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The Flashpacking Wife continues to amaze me. While raising two energetic boys and changing careers, she’s managed to get in a lot of travel on the side (sometimes even dragging me along with her).

And for those of you who wonder how on earth you’re supposed to change a baby in an airplane bathroom, wonder no more! She’s written a comprehensive survival guide for those of us crazy enough to board a plane with a baby in one arm and a carry-on stuffed with baby wipes and mum-mums in the other. And as her husband and rabid fan, I sincerely encourage you to purchase a copy immediately.

It’s called The No-Nonsense Guide to Surviving Travel with Baby, and actually, I’d buy it even if I wasn’t married to the author. Seriously, for the price of stopping at the Starbucks in the airport, you’ll get dozens of tricks that can save you hours of wishing you were dead while other parents give you pitying looks (and non-parents try to murder you with their eyes). Why wouldn’t you?

If you’re not the type to go throwing your money at things like eBooks (though seriously, why wouldn’t you? Do it!), there’s still hope in the form of a brilliant packing checklist for travel with baby that you can download for free. Free! Seriously, do it now.

That’s her, pictured with our son Enzo. Do I have a beautiful family or what?

Sometimes it’s hard to come up with superlatives on a long trip: best beach, best view, best hotel. But sometimes the best is just SO best that it’s undeniable — and Italy serves up just such a superlative experience for Lindsie and I when we arrive in Volpaia one stormy night.

Ever since we arrived in Italy, we’ve marveled at the number of courses on the menus: antipasti, first course, second course, dessert. Throw in apertif, wine, digestif, and coffee, and you have a truly insane amount of food and drink to consume. Every time we’ve gone out, we’ve exercised restraint and ordered a single course — but tonight is the one night we’re planning to throw caution (and our waistlines) to the winds. Continue reading In Search of Tuscany’s Best Meal — and Best Olive→

It’s a sunny Monday morning and I’m in a parking lot east of Sydney, crawling through a campervan with a bleary-eyed employee of Camperman Australia.

“Here are the towels,” she tells me, her voice set on a pleasant sort of autopilot. “Sleeping bags. Cushions. Bucket. Microwave only works if the van’s plugged in. Engine’s under the passenger seat. Turn the propane off when you drive. Always put the radiator cap on tight.”

The headline about “champagne tastes” is well timed, too, as we’re in France right now and just finished visiting the famous and amazing caves of Champagne. Total coincidence. Stay tuned for France blog posts.

And just for the record, I gave that quote about us being “less focused on drinking” shortly after a five-day bender in Queensland, Australia — a week like that would leave anyone in a… puritanical state of mind.

I’m happy to report that things are back to normal, though. We tasted fifteen French wines yesterday, including an astonishingly perfect Volnay Les Mitans Premier Cru. I’m changing this blog’s tagline to “Pack light and carry an aspirin.”

Returning to Bangkok for a five-day layover after four months in Asia is a great experience — we’re so immersed in the culture and rules of engagement here that we’re able to enjoy the town on our terms, rather than cower in fear at the mercy of the touts, hawkers, and scammers.

We dine on street noodles, get massages, and even brave a tailor’s shop to have a suit and a silk dress tailored, with great results.

This time around, my three favorite spots in Bangkok are:

The Hotel Atlanta. Mad art deco hotel with zero tolerance for sex tourists, and it’s right in Sukhumvit. Amazing food too, and a pool, all for $25 a night. (It’s well hidden at the end of an alley; the sign out front says, This is the place you are looking for — if you know it. If you don’t, you’ll never find it.)

Little Arabia. After a meal of butter chicken, I smoke a shisha, drink a lassi, and watch men walk past in sheik-style desert robes. Amazing.

Mahboonkrong. MBK is the mother of all malls, though a big white guy like me has to shop around a lot to find anything that fits. But there are movies, food, clothes, electronics, books, and killer foot rubs. And air con.

Or maybe just step up your game from grungy backpacking or two-week vacationing to a lightweight, high-tech travel style that lets you work, play, and see the world with minimal burdens and maximum fun?

We step off the Air Asia plane onto scorching tarmac. Moments earlier, my first impression of Cambodia was of endless rice fields and scattered palms beneath the plane as we descended; now my second impression is of a blistering sun firing off waves of heat that bring beads of sweat to my skin within seconds once we’re off the plane.

The minivan shows up in the parking lot of Green View Village at six in the morning.

This feels like a truly ungodly hour — we’ve been wandering and shopping a bit at night, sleeping late, spending mornings close to the fan in the bungalow, so we’re completely unaccustomed to an early rise.

We have a quiet breakfast of peanut butter sandwiches by ourselves on the steps of the restaurant, then dance around waving at mosquitoes until the van arrives.

Travel really starts feeling like travel after a month goes by. You wake up in a bungalow without that where-am-I moment and realize that this is home for the foreseeable future. It feels good.

Lindsie and I start feeling this way on Ko Lanta, where we pass an agreeable nine days or so swimming and wandering and watching tourists tan themselves to the colour of fried chicken. Sure, we spend time in the sun ourselves and are going a nice toasted-sourdough hue ourselves, but these people are fanatics. They burn hell out of their face and chest all morning, then flip over and somehow lie on the seared flesh while their backs cook. We walk by in awe and reapply sunscreen. Continue reading Ao Nang: Elephants, Waterfights, Thunderstorms, and Ear Trouble→